Supergirl: Through My Eyes
by Lirie Halliwell
Summary: One-Shot:: When Hermione takes on herself more than she could handle and is slowly drowning in floods of schoolwork, Ron feels helpless as she drifts away. Would he be able to confess his feelings before it's too late?


**Disclaimer:** Listen up, this is NOT MINE! I'm just using the characters for my own twisted pleasure. Dance, puppets, _dance!_

On top of it, the song? Ain't mine as well :D It is actually "Supergirl" by Reamonn.

**Author's Notes:** ThankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouTHANKYOU my wonderful Munchkin for the awesome banner! waves hand at Munchkin

Also, I would like to thank the dearest drangonsangel68, who kindly enough agreed to beta this piece and did a magnificent job. ::hugs Jenny-kins::

* * *

_**You can tell by the way she walks that she's my girl  
You can tell by the way she talks, she rules the world.**_

Her name was Hermione Granger and she was the one who stole my heart. How horribly clichéd, don't you think? But cliche or not, this statement couldn't be any less true, I'm afraid. I was head over heels, heart over brain , fight-in-a-war-for-ten-years, slay-the-Hungarian-Horntail, study-until-the-wee-hours-of-the-night-in-the-library in love with her. God, I must sound like a sap! So, just to reconcile my ego, I will mention that I am the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and one hell of a Keeper. There, now I feel better…

Hermione is everything a man could ever want - she's smart, funny and caring, she's the bravest girl I have ever met and she is more beautiful than Fleur DeLacour. Yes, I said that! And I'm standing by my words! Unfortunately, she is also everything a guy like me couldn't ever dream of acquiring. She is the kind of perfection I could only long for - envisioning her in my sleep, swearing to make her happy for the rest of her life, if only she would be kind enough to throw me a meaningful glance - but, at the end of the day, I am forced to watch her, from the securely distant position of "_best friend_". God, I came to hate these two words!

I had the honor of her conversation over insignificant issues; I had the honor of listening, powerlessly, to her as she berated Harry and me over and again about not doing our homework; I had the honor of watching her fawn over Victor Krum and not being able to do what I really wanted - rearrange his already ugly face - because of the numbing fear that she would discover what I kept hidden inside; I also had the honor of fighting with her every time I said something supposedly stupid that she found inappropriate and so long and so forth. I had many honors of her company, sometimes I was even close enough to catch a whiff of her herbal scented shampoo, but never had I had the honor of holding her close and comforting her.

Not that Hermione ever needed comforting. She was always so strong, so collected, always with a comeback, always with a plan. Hermione was never like those other girls, who fainted at a sight of a mouse or a spider. Hell! There were couple of times where she was the one to smash a spider when I was on a brink of fainting… (I did not say that, you did not hear that, got it? Good!)

Hermione never panicked, she was only anxious before tests, but never when it really mattered. She always was just the right amount of nerves, which allowed her to excel in her performance in a time of danger.

To make a long story short - she was Hermione Granger, the girl who stole my heart.

_**You can see in her eyes that no one is her chain.  
She's my girl, my Supergirl**_

I often found myself staring at her for hours at a time while she was too busy, reciting the different uses of Muharer fungi in sleeping potions. Actually, it was the only way I passed my exams - I stared at her while she was studying and somehow her never-ending muttering settled in my memory. Of course, I often found myself staring at a T (as in _Troll_)because from the moment she entered my mind as a memory, she wouldn't leave and the exam just didn't seem that important, all of a sudden.

Harry made fun of me at the beginning, said I was ogling her, too obviously and advised me to take a cold shower, or just to jump naked into the piles of snow.

"That, not only would snap you out of it, but also supply entertainment for the whole school!"

He stopped though, after the time I started unthreading my tie and heading out the Entrance Hall without my cloak, muttering, "Perhaps I'll bloody well freeze to death! Rid me of my misery!"

He was stunned but was shaken out of it when he heard me slumping into the snow piles - making snow angels. He dragged me to my feet and back into the castle, slapping the snow off my robes and smacking me on the back of my head while he was about it. He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head heavily, "Poor sod…"

I think what Harry felt was pity - actually, it was quite obvious. Hell, if it were me who had to haul my best friend out of angel-shaped snow piles I probably would've cast an Unforgivable on him, just to rid mankind of the disgrace. Yes! I am disgrace to mankind! I am a worthless, spineless, pathetic excuse for a man! Gods, I'm becoming more and more like Malfoy!

There was this one time when I caught her eyes, she lifted hers to search for another roll of parchment, and I dared myself to hold them until it became uncomfortable. We were working on yet another potions assignment (and when I say working, I mean she was working, while I was doodling "Snape is an oily git" all over my parchment). Her eyes were the same deep chocolate that I'd seen million times before and they possessed the same intensity that made me cringe at the unbearable void in my chest.

I always saw my own reflection in her eyes - the scrawny kid with the red hair and miserable puppy-eyes that could never veil themselves in indifference whenever they crossed her gaze. It was always so visible that she needed no one to take care of her - to think for her. She was always in charge and no one could hold her on a short leash or bring her down.

That was Hermione Granger - fierce, fearless and free. She was a Supergirl, the utter definition of the word. And she was the one I wished to be mine.

_**And then she'd say it's OK, I got lost on the way  
But I'm a Supergirl and Supergirls don't cry**_

The first time I noticed something was wrong, I found her in a corridor in the furthest corner of the fifth floor. She was very still, standing in front of a painting of a knight, who was rambling on about the Battle of Kaeertan. She was holding her books close to her heart and seemed to listen intently to the ongoing blather. She didn't react to my calling out her name, until the third time.

"Hermione!"

Her body stirred just slightly and she turned her head slowly in my direction. She stared at me oddly for a minute or so then blinked twice, slowly. "Ron?"

"Yes, I am. Who else could it be?" I asked in my usual manner, carefully watching her and pondering whether she was coming down with something. "What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"Umm…" She paused, looking around, as if looking for something that was there just a moment ago and had suddenly vanished. "I…" she stammered and it was one of the strangest things I've ever heard - Hermione Granger… stammer. "I'm…" she tried again, avoiding my eyes, at all costs, seemingly and cast her gaze to the books in her hands. "I was taking a book from the dorms… you know, for light reading…"

I eyed the book cautiously, but was unable to distinguish anything about it, but for the brown leather binding. "Of course," I muttered, knowing, very well, that Gryffindor tower was on the other side of the castle. "Are you okay, then?"

"Yes, of course I'm okay, Ron. Don't be silly," she dismissed my concerns and walked past me, skipping down the stairs on her way to the Great Hall - I presumed.

I remained standing in the corridor, hearing the knight in the painting chatter on about something I couldn't care less about. I stood there for ten minutes, I think, staring in the direction of the staircase and wondering what on earth was going on. Why did I, all of a sudden, feel as though I should be crumbling to my knees and weeping like a child?

_**And then she'd say it's alright, I got home late last night  
Cause I'm a Supergirl and Supergirls just fly**_

As weeks went by, homework piled up and autumn announced its arrival in a festive downpour that lasted for days. Day in, day out, everyone was locked inside the cold stonewalls, and after the third day of continuous rain, the students began a massive, collective, mental breakdown.

In addition, Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey were seen to show some uncharacteristic behavior. Snape's glee was somewhat subtle and almost unnoticeable, but significant to the older students, who had known him longer. He would walk around the dark, torch-lit corridors, smirking nastily and murmuring something to himself. Every time yet another victim of the Rainfall-Depression crossed his path, he would halt momentarily, following the student intently with his dark eyes, which were constantly narrowed to suspicious slits. As the student scampered away he would resumed his walk more briskly, smiling widely to himself.

Madam Pomfrey, on the other hand, had become more agitated and temperamental, barking at the first-years who unluckily wandered into the Hospital Wing without a reason, disturbing some of the patients' rest. These days she most commonly was found walking quickly through the cold halls, always on her way to take care of some student or leading another depression-stricken child to the Hospital Wing, never smiling or greeting the students as she would have usually. She also adopted the tendency to mutter under her breath words, which after thorough research, deliberation and approval by a reliable source, were - for the lack of better definition - cussing.

Unfortunately, they weren't the only habitants of Hogwart's Castle who began acting stranger than usual. Hermione began spending all of her time at the library, buried behind infinite stacks of books and parchments, smeared with ink up to her neck. She refused to listen to Harry and me when we tried to tell her to take things slow. Every time she would lash out at us with another of her endless lectures about the importance of NEWTs. We would stand in front of her, wide-eyed, red-eared and speechless, gaping for long minutes, unable to structure a single coherent reply. She would become snappish, impatient and irritable, and it ripped me apart to watch her like that.

Once, after a long period of missing breakfast, she entered the Great Hall, hauling a load of heavy books. Harry nudged me slightly to draw my attention and the moment I saw her, I jumped off the bench and ran to help her. She was quite surprised, to say the least, when the books suddenly became weightless in her hands as I took them into mine. She glanced up and blinked couple of times when she realized it was me. She seemed flabbergasted for some reason as I guided her over to our regular seat on the bench and placed her books beside her, helping her to sit down.

I looked at her as she sat down carefully and had to use all of the self-control I never knew I had, not to break down right there. She looked utterly and indescribably exhausted. Dark circles shone beneath her eyes, which were blood-shot and watery; her hair was messily crumpled into a bun that hung flaccidly at the back of her head; her uniform was creased and tussled, as if she were sleeping in it (she probably was); and when she reached out for the butter, I noticed her hands tremble violently.

Tightening her fingers around the edge of the small plate with great difficulty, she heaved it up and willed her hand to bring it closer to her. But she was so tired and had absolutely no strength to hold the minimal weight of butter and her hand began shaking, threatening to lose the plate and slop into the porridge.

I shot Harry a pained look, to which he heaved an understanding breath and nodded. I cringed in a way that resembled physical pain so much, it didn't even differ. Kneeling beside her, I reached out my hand and steadied the butter plate in midair, slowly steering it down to the table before her. Her brown eyes flickered to me, to the butter and back to me.

"Thanks…" she mumbled, her words sounding like a question more than they probably should have.

"Of course," I stuttered, sensing the flush creeping up my neck.

"Hermione," intoned Harry quickly, wishing to avert her gaze from my rapidly flushing cheeks. "Have you slept at all? You look awful-ly tired!" he added quickly, hastily grabbing his pumpkin juice mug and taking a slow sip, hiding himself.

Snapping her eyes away from me, she shot Harry a death glare, his slip up about her appearance not going unnoticed. "Don't exaggerate, Harry," she huffed indignantly, unconsciously trying to pat her unruly tresses down. "I just got back from the library a tad late last night. Nothing that should be of any concern…"

"Yeah, Harry!" chirped in Dean Thomas. "It's Hermione you're talking about! She can handle a little sleep deprivation for the sake of extra cramming hours in the library!" he barked out a laugh, slapping Harry on the back and returning to his own meal.

My eyes left her only for a split second to glance at him and for the first time in seven years I wondered how could he be so ignorant. I looked back at her, watching as a small smile flashed upon her lips and dissipated just as quickly, catching some bitterness in her tone as she uttered an almost inaudible "Exactly…"

Noticing I was still kneeling on the bench beside her, I cleared my throat uncomfortably and stood up, taking a seat to her right on the bench. Harry passed my plate, noticing the grave expression on my face as I watched her butter a meager piece of toast. I quirked one side of my mouth in a feeble imitation of a grateful smile and placed the plate down on the table. But when I picked up the fork, my eyes were drawn back to the frail figure beside me, once again lost between the yellow pages of yet another tome, and I found myself unable to take another bite.

_**And then she'd say that nothing can go wrong  
When you're in love, what can go wrong?**_

Months passed and the constant flow of essays, homework or papers to be submitted by the end of a given week, or the world would come to an end, grew menacingly. The Professors weren't bothered, in the least, by the growing rate of student breakdowns and finally rumors regarding this attitude spread around the massive castle like fire in a thorn field.

Of course I didn't have to listen to the rumors in order to know what was going on, since I was the faithful sidekick of the main attraction for the upcoming show. Through endless speculation, ever-growing doubt, ongoing anticipation, critical opposition, glorifying supporters and so on, it was deemed the time when Harry Potter would stand tall before the grandest of all evil wizards and leave the battlefield victorious. Or so everybody hoped.

The wizarding world was in utter turmoil - not knowing what fate awaited and being at a total loss as to what to prepare for. The Dark Lord had been silent during the summer, undoubtedly scheming and planning the ultimate way to bring the wizarding hero to his knees. That was exactly what urged Dumbledore to train as much children as soon as possible for their graduation or at least make them capable of protecting themselves.

While everybody was growing disturbingly hysterical due to the looming threat, I was growing uneasily panic-stricken because of Hermione's calm demeanor. All the other students began to travel the castle in groups of at least four, preferred to borrow books from the library and struggle with the mounting pile of assignments in the dormitory. Hermione, on the other hand, still spent all of her time in the now deserted library and stayed there till the wee hours, long after Harry and I had given up trying to talk her into returning to Gryffindor Tower.

I tried to talk to her once, to make her talk to me, forget about the books just for a while and focus on what is going on in the real world.

She smiled tiredly, looking at me with a gaze one may bestow a pestering child - a gaze, which infuriated me beyond words - and said in that soft, standoffish voice. "Everything is going to be alright, Ron. Harry will win. What could there be that may change the obvious outcome of this battle?"

I sat speechless before her, gaping at the cold nonchalance she regarded the issue with, and watched her helplessly as she turned back to her books. That was ridiculous! If that was her way of dealing with the anxiety the whole situation caused her, then why did it have to come on the expense on _my_ nervous system???

_**And then she'd laugh the nighttime into day  
Pushing her fears further along**_

Death Eaters' attacked Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve, after which everybody started walking on eggshells and became a whole lot more paranoid. I noticed that Harry started acting strange as well, became more distant and a bit detached, which I guessed was how he was preparing for the forthcoming war. Hermione had drifted away from both of us some time ago and lately I had begun feeling lost, and disoriented, in all this madness. Suddenly, I was thrust into the realization that things have changed - not for the better.

Christmas came and went and the atmosphere within Hogwarts did not improve. Students were still breaking down under the load of work. Professors were still acting odd and irritatingly impatient. Harry was still the center of the unwanted attention. Hermione was still burying herself between the yellow parchments. And me? Well, I was still head over heels, heart over brain, fight-in-a-war-for-ten-years, slay-the-Hungarian-Horntail, study-until-the-wee-hours-of-the-night-in-the-library in love with her.

No longer did the chocolate brown of Hermione's eyes glower at me with hidden mirth, and take me soaring up to the seventh heaven. No longer were there Harry's discriminating insinuations that brought me back to earth and held me safely in my place. My beautiful Know-It-All was withering with her books and my best friend was thriving, with the constant preparations and training.

And me?

For a while I was feeling sorry for myself. You try not to when everything you've ever known, and was sure of, was slipping away from you. Once though, I found Hermione in the same corridor of the fifth floor - the one I had found her in months ago, listening to a portrait, yet again. She was standing still in front of the babbling painting, gripping the brown leather bound book I had seen numerous times before, to her chest. Her eyes were glazed in a comforting haze of nothingness and for a moment I wanted to cry.

"Ron?" came the soft voice.

I snapped my head up and impulsively bore into her eyes. They were dizzyingly clear again and held a grave expression; one that I did not wanted to scrutinize further. I blinked twice and hurried to look down when I felt something hot trickle down my cheek.

"What the hell is going on?" The words slipped out before I could stop myself, and I looked up to see her gaze slip down to the book.

"What do you mean, Ron? Nothing's-"

"I'm tired of this, Hermione. Tell me what the hell is going on." I cut her words off, recognizing the lie in her voice by the tapping of her foot.

She took a deep breath and pushed it out, almost painfully. Her lips broadened into an odd smile and a harsh laugh escaped her mouth, she shook her head in defeat. I surveyed her features and in an instant was dumbfounded when her carefully calculated composure shattered mercilessly into tiny pieces. Hermione let the heavy book slide from her trembling fingers and hit the floor with sickening thud, as she herself broke into an uncontrollable laughter.

The acute sound reverberated through the stone walls, assaulting my eardrums and causing me to flinch in actual physical discomfort. She giggled onwards, wheezing air into her lungs just to keep her standing.

The world rushed somewhere but, apparently, I wasn't invited because she was laughing, almost hysterically, over something I didn't know. What was going on? What was wrong with her? I found myself standing motionlessly, rooted to the floor, and watching as her unmonitored twirling brought her to the nearest window. She suddenly stopped laughing, glanced at her wristwatch and out the window again.

Pointing out, she glanced at me and smiled. "It has begun."

At that moment, I think I went deaf. There was a big part of me (the bigger part of me) that prodded me to keep acting dumb, as always, pretend to not understand and ask "_What has began?_" But I ignored that part and instead listened to the other one, remained standing in my place, with eyes wide open and my whole body paralyzed with fear. _It has began… _

_**And then she'd say it's OK, I got lost on the way  
But I'm a Supergirl and Supergirls don't cry  
And then she'd say it's alright I got home late last night  
Cause I'm a Supergirl and Supergirls just fly**_

Numerous times when I let my mind wander as it pleased (something that didn't happen all that much up until this year), I found myself picturing the first minutes that would follow the final and ultimate battle. There significant visions that replayed themselves alternately in my mind - the first, pictured what would be if Harry won, and the second one was… well, the other case.

As Harry's victory flashed through my mind, I could always see him clearly, standing in the middle of the battleground (it was always some kind of field in my mind's eye) next to me, both of us gripping our wands tightly, breathing heavily and glaring at the small pile of black dust that once was known as the greatest dark wizard of all time. Then from the edge of my vision, everyone would swarm over to us, hugging us and screaming in joy, my Mom would cry of course, clinging to my Dad when he'd shake Harry's hand, claiming it was an unspeakable honor to know him and say that he was so proud of me. Fred and George would pull another nasty prank on Percy right there on the battlefield, while Bill, Charlie and Gin would laugh and we all will be alive.

Then people would lift Harry off his feet and carry him away to tend to his wounds, which were mostly shallow cuts. I would remain on the battlefield, throw the dead cloaked bodies a disdainful scowl and review the battle in my head. My mind would finally be relieved and I would be able to take in a deep breath and peacefully close my eyes, without fearing a stab in the back. I would be absolutely and totally free for the first time in seven years, just like Harry and the rest of the wizarding world. I would be exhilarated and festive like everybody else, and most definitely would pig out during the celebrations.

Vision of Harry's defeat was far less merry, as you might imagine. In the times I was forced to watch the slaughter in my mind, I would see Harry's body tremble in last spasms of painful and inescapable death, before a fierce flash of green sent him into darkness. And when he finally found his peace, the whole wizarding world plunged into endless gloom and silence, disturbed only by more green flashes and heartbreaking cries. I saw people losing their families, their friends, their hope and eventually their lives. I never allowed my mind to imagine what would become of my family in such scenario, not wishing to even think about it.

I would see myself trying to give Harry a proper burial, but forced to be satisfied with a simple dirt pit, boulders mounted on top of his body and some stray weed instead of flowers. I would see myself slinking through dirty alleyways with the rotting bodies of my former classmates strewn along the streets. All those who managed to survive the war and avoid the Death Eaters, were haggard and hopeless, some still mumbling about the great hero that "died on us". I would be haunted by and trapped inside of my own memories of the good old days, or maybe I would be dead, just like everybody else.

Anyway, no matter what were my visions - the real thing wasn't as I imagined.

At the beginning, everything was just like my first vision, the one where Harry had finally won. We were really standing together on the battlefield (which, by the way, was no field, but our very own Hogwarts grounds), gripping our wands and breathing heavily, glaring at the skinny and scaled body that was the Dark Lord's vessel. And then - as to be anticipated - screams that informed all about the victory carried out to everywhere.

A joyous mob, indeed, surrounded us, but as I finally looked at Harry with a big goofy grin, I noticed suddenly that he wasn't grinning back. Instead he was gazing onwards, aimlessly and a closer inspection showed me that his eyes had become milky white - he couldn't see a single thing. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had been blinded by the green flash that had abolished his adversary. My grin disappeared and as the cheerful crowds carried him away, I caught him bowing his head and shielding his eyes with a hand, when tears began to brim them.

I was left on the battlefield alone then, and I threw the dead bodies a look that should've been disdainful. Instead, my eyes landed on a mop of messy red hair and the disdain was struck away. Kneeling down, I grabbed onto a scrawny shoulder and heaved it onto me, to reveal the pale features of George. No! This was not supposed to happen! I hugged the limp body, rocking it slightly, thinking about Mom, Dad, Gin and the guys. But my grieving was cut short, as yet another mop of hair caught my attention.

George Weasley, Fred Weasley, Percy Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Lee Jordan, Ernie McMillen, Hannah Abbot, Denis Creevey, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Cho Chang, Luna Lovegood, Albus Dumbledore and the list goes on and on. I had never thought I would find myself in the middle of my friend's mutual grave, gaping at the familiar lifeless faces, roaring inside from pain that it wasn't suppose to be that way. We were supposed to be victorious! We shouldn't have paid such a high price!

When I finally pried myself away from the dead and forced my aching limbs to carry me into the castle, I found the Great Hall overfilled with shaky bunks holding hundreds of wounded. The noise almost deafened me at the beginning, but I forced myself to adapt and stepped in, noticing Harry being examined by a medi-wizard with a very glum expression. The medi-wizard shook his head and mouthed, "I'm sorry", which caused Harry to nod understandingly and dismiss him with a smile. From the distance, I watched my best friend gulp hard, trying to let the information sink in and prohibiting himself to cry.

I don't know if his attempt succeeded, because exactly at that moment I was struck by the realization that I hadn't seen Hermione since I hurried out of that corridor on the fifth floor, heading to find Harry or Dumbledore or someone else who would know what was going on. I don't think I was ever as frightened as I was in that particular moment. Not even bloody Aragog made me feel like this - as if in an instant I had given up all hope for the better.

I noticed Madam Pomfrey hurrying from one bed to another, and dashed towards her, my expression fervent and lost at the same time. "Hermione," I muttered, drawing Madam Pomfrey's attention. "Where is Hermione?"

The Medi-witch widened her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Is she missing as well? Will there be no end of this?" The rhetorical questions were sent meaninglessly into the air and drowned almost immediately in the general bustle, as she turned away and raised her voice. "Miss Granger! Has anyone seen Miss Granger?"

A chubby second-year said she saw the witch in question at the beginning of all this madness - she and some Aurors were helping younger students escape the Death Eaters' attack by the lake. Madam Pomfrey huffed out some air and turned back to where I stood, but I was no longer there.

Speeding on my way out of the castle and over to the lake, I tried as hard as I could not to imagine her beautiful face among those lifeless at the battlegrounds. I arrived at the lake and noticed that Hermione was no longer there, my heart sank a little further. Catching a glimpse of a familiar figure, I hurried over to Kingsley and inquired of him as to Hermione's whereabouts. He informed me that indeed Hermione was present during the attack and helped the children. Then he went on about her bravery and how she launched at a Death Eater who was aiming at a first-year, blabbered on about her virtuousness in battle and how the Aurors would be honored to have someone such as her in their ranks. When I finally made him talk about where was she now, he said that she had left to go to the library as soon as all the Death Eaters were captured or killed.

"Library? The library??? That woman is _insane_!!!" "Tonks called for some back up. Another Death Eaters' attack," he elaborated , a bit puzzled at my reaction."That girl disappeared before I could even tell her to stay put while I sort it out. She just took off running towards the castle, saying she's got it…" I thanked him briskly and dashed back into the castle, running up all the staircases to the fourth floor and library at last. I threw the door open and was greeted with a site of destruction, a sight that would've caused Hermione to have a fit. I took a step in and saw six dead bodies, cloaked in black, lying on the floor, tables and over thrown bookshelves. Hermione was nowhere in sight.

I ran down the staircases again, catching sight of a haggard looking Tonks, entering the Entrance Hall. Her appearance caused my stomach to lurch - her robes were torn; her wand broken in two, barely attached by a meager splinter; every visible inch of her body was cut and bruised, and her eyes blackened; she held her right arm protectively and her right leg moved with a painful looking limp.

"Tonks, what, in bloody hell, happened to you?" I yelled, jumping down the last four steps and landing clumsily in front of her. It was not what I wanted to ask at all; I couldn't care less what had happened to her (and believe me I thought that with heavy dose of guilt, but considering she was well enough to walk herself to the castle, I knew she was okay, while Hermione was still missing!!!).

"Eh, this is what happens when you try to take on an overgrown insect all by yourself," Tonks replied. "Your right side gets to meet the trunk of the nearest tree," she chuckled to herself, immediately wincing in pain.

Oh my god, she was talking about the Aragog's children. I felt my face turn into a sickeningly ashen shade, as the answer to my next question was so painfully obvious. "Where is Hermione?"

"Oh, she's still in the Forbidden forest. We chased the remaining Death Eatersinto the forest - the idiots - straight into the gigantic spiders' den. We would've left then, letting Aragog and his kids take care of them, but we attracted their attention before we could leave." She shook her head slightly, propping her arm a bit higher. "That girl, Hermione, boy is she something! Marched straight into the clearing and started _Stupefy_ing those eight-leggers, left and right. She would be an awesome Auror, one day…"

_If she ever lives to see that day,_ I thought irritably and dashed once again out of the castle, this time heading to the Forbidden Forest. I could feel my knees threatened to buckle as the memories of my various adventures in the forest, especially the one with the huge spiders, replayed in my head. I also felt my mind starting to react in its usual panicked way, like it always did, when the situation required me to enter the Forbidden forest; but in an instant I quelled the welling fear and continued darting towards the forest.

Just as I was in the right state of mind to enter the accursed place I swore many times to avoid with all my might, I caught the sight of Hermione emerging from among the trees, assisting a badly injured Professor Lupin. She looked the embodiment of compassion - regal and perilous at the same time. She resembled a mythical warrior goddess as she walked proudly out of the forest, followed by at least dozen of Aurors, some carrying and some carried.

I stopped dead in my tracks, suddenly feeling as if all my strength had been solely built on my concern for her safety, fearing that now, when it was obvious she was well, I would yield to the void in my chest and crumble down in front of her, breaking into tears.

But no, that was not an option. I cleared my throat and hurried to her side, heaving Remus onto my shoulder and releasing her of the burden. I looked up just in time to see the strange look she gave me, the same strange look she gave me months ago in the Great Hall at breakfast, when I helped her with her books.

"Thanks," she almost whispered, though this time it didn't sound like a question.

I just nodded back at her, propping the, heavy, former DADA professor and started towards the castle. Walking slowly and somewhat awkwardly, I paid attention to the seemingly frail creature that walked beside me. Her tentative steps, perfectly synchronized with my trudging feet, were extremely light, as if she was walking on clouds. She held herself high and proud , a contrasting opposite of the hunched and wounded men walking beside her. I wondered how she could be so perfect, even in times of such pain and distress, and assured myself calmly that I would probably never find out.

_**Then she'd shout down the line tell me she's got no more time  
Cause she's a Supergirl and Supergirls don't cry  
Then she'd scream in my face tell me to leave, leave this place  
Cause she's a Supergirl and Supergirls just fly**_

When we arrived at the castle, I immediately headed to the Great Hall, heaving Professor Lupin with me. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness all the way from the forest - the open gash on his forehead was a worry. Once I had deposited him in the hands of Madam Pomfrey, I hurried out. Hermione had disappeared from my side as we entered the gates, the moment she stepped away I felt a rimy gust of air down my right side. I searched the Entrance Hall for her, but she was not there.

My heart sank as I noticed the crack in the door, whistling out a melancholy tune, she had probably headed out again. Clenching my jaw in growing irritation, I took off yet again, swinging the great doors open and prepared to dash down the front stairs. But when I stepped out, I noticed Hermione sitting on the stairs, bracing her knees and shaking slightly.

I came to a halt, scanning her small form, it seemed she was merely a bundle of dark clothing on the white snow. I let my eyes wander to the horizon, wherever it was, and sighed heavily. For the first time since the end of the final battle, I didn't have to run, and that was a fleeting thought of comfort. Glancing at her, I felt an odd sensation of tranquility come over me, and though I felt the blackness of loss, there was also the radiating thought that, strangely enough, I was able to overcome it.

I shrugged off my robe and draped it around her shoulders, taking a seat beside her. I noticed the cold wind chilling me to the bone, and though I can't say I didn't feel it because I was with her - because I felt it - but somehow I didn't really care that I was freezing.

She jolted momentarily and made a grab for her wand, but lowered her guard when saw it was me. "Hi," she said, shooting me a careless smile. "How is Harry?"

When I glanced at her I felt something odd boiling in the void of my chest. "Umm… alive, but-"

"But what?" Here she was again! With that careless voice! As if we were having an everyday chitchat, and not trying to recuperate from a war.

"He… umm… lost his sight. And the Healers can't help him-"

"Oh-"

My eyes widened a little and before I even noticed, my chest burst open. "Oh? That's it? He is your best friend, damn it! And all you have to say is 'Oh'?"

For some reason that would probably always be hidden from me, Hermione was not in the least surprised or taken aback by my outburst.

"What else do you want me to say?" she countered quietly, slowly tearing her gaze from the dirty snow and looking at me with those brown eyes that sent me soaring into the sky.

Nothing. I wanted her to say nothing. I wished she could just remain in that position for eternity - looking at me, with neither of us speaking or moving away from each other. But I couldn't say that and since I already opened the subject, I had to go through with it. "I want you to react! I want you to scream, to curse the world, to cry, god damn it!"

I watched her narrow her eyes and inch away from me. "You don't want me to cry, Ron. You want me to be strong. Everyone wants me to be strong. Everyone needs me to help the children at the lake, help Tonks in the library, fight the damn spiders- No one wants me to cry, to break down. I'm not allowed to cry. Who needs a sniveling little mudblood in a war against the darkest of wizards? No one. But you do need a fierce little bookworm, who can fight monsters and isn't afraid of anything-"

I sat quietly, taken aback by her sudden flow of words and claims I never thought I'd hear her make. I was also astonished by the serenity of her voice, as if her role was thrown at her like a death penalty, which she had accepted and made peace with years ago. I watched her gaze drift from me and wander to the snow again. She shook her head slightly and inhaled deeply, tightening my robe around herself.

"The war is over, Hermione. We won."

"The war is not over. The war won't be over until the last of Death Eaters are locked away on a rock in the middle of the ocean, and that won't happen for a long time," she countered quietly.

"That doesn't mean that it is solely your job to catch them all. There are others - those who are paid to that job-" She snapped her head in my direction, her eyes spitting definite fire. "What do you know?" she spat venomously and moved further away from me.

"I know that you cannot fight this alone." I almost yelled, sensing frustration and irritation bubbling inside of me.

"Sure I can," she barked back. "Everything else I did this year, I did alone!"

"Exactly! And look at yourself! You are exhausted! You're obsessive, detached and nearing breaking point! Hermione, you have got to slow down! You can't do this any longer!"

"Don't you dare to tell me what I can or cannot do! Who do you think you are?"

"I am someone who bloody cares, woman!" I shouted suddenly, feeling something threatening to snap inside of me.

She froze for a moment, blinking couple of times. I thought I saw bewilderment and a little disorientation cloud her eyes but the moment passed, swiftly and her eyes hardened again. "I have no time for this," she muttered almost disgustedly and started to stand. With my irritation visible by the scowl on my face, I moved to grab her hand. I pulled her down forcefully, causing her to lose her balance and land against my chest. My heart picked up its pace, skipping beats every other moment and all of a sudden I was aware of what I had just done. I felt my face heat up and my breath becomelabored, opening my mouth to speak, I hoped my voice wouldn't decide to crack in the middle of my words. "I am not done talking-"

I saw the cold shroud over her eyes deteriorate when she looked up to see me treacherously close, and her cheeks veiled in lush scarlet. I watched her chocolate brown eyes flicker nervously from one of my eyes to the other, once chancing a glance at my lips, which were too close for comfort. Hers or mine, I'm afraid I'm undecided.

Hearing my words, she jerked fiercely, trying to break free from the cage of my arms, but I was holding her tightly, anticipating she might do something like that.

"Leave me, Ron. Now!" she screamed in my face, trying to squirm away from my. "I am not of your concern!"

"You're bloody well are!" I shouted back, tightening my grip so she wouldn't escape. "I am your- best friend," God, I swear those words are like knife to my heart. "and I will not stand by doing nothing, while you drive yourself into an early grave!"

She stopped squirming and glared up into my eyes. "Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps I don't want your concern?"

Have you ever heard a crystal glass shatter into billions of tiny pieces, knowing there was absolutely no way to repair it? Well, try to envision those billions of shards covered in fresh crimson blood, with my heart lying amongst the shards, bleeding hopelessly.

My expression hardened in an instant, I released my grip and watched her scamper away. I was wondering how the hell was I still able to sit straight and somewhere in the back of my mind I found myself hoping that a stray Death Eater would put me out of my misery. I can't quite describe what was going through my mind or heart at that moment, because I think they both decided to separate themselves from my body, for some alone time. But I can tell you that the boiling and bubbling of strange emotions in my chest ceased, and were once again replaced by the black void.

"You are so predictable, Ron," she said evenly, standing up and straightening her skirt. Her eyes drifted and I followed them, seeing Kingsley approach the castle in a slight jog. "How many?" she asked suddenly, out of the blue, but it didn't sound odd to him.

"About twenty," he panted, doubling over and trying to catch his breath. "They escaped into the forest behind Hagrid's hut but we lost their trace."

Hermione nodded and shrugged out of my robes, folding them hastily and dropping them onto my lap, before trotting down the stairs to Kingsley's side. "Let's go."

I clutched the robes in my fist and wordlessly watched her as she disappeared, on her way to capture more Death Eaters and battle her own unknown demons. I was left sitting on the staircase. For the first time, since I could remember, I felt utterly alone.

_**She's a Supergirl a Supergirl  
She's sewing seed; she's burning trees  
She's sewing seed; she's burning trees  
She's a Supergirl a Supergirl**_

I slept all of the next day and most of that day in the Gryffindor dorms with Harry, who hadn't regained his sight and was gradually acknowledging the fact, and Seamus Finnigan, who hadn't talked at all, since he regained his conscious. Walking, for the first time since the battle, into that room, was like a living nightmare. Our eyes, despite the fact that Harry couldn't see a thing, were impulsively drawn to the two empty beds that would forever remain empty. Seamus didn't want to go in any further, so I reminded him that the only alternative was to return to the Great Hall. Wordlessly, he walked in.

I remember laying still on my bed after a shower, canopy drawn over to hide me from everything around, and just listening to the night's sounds. Some kind of soft cooing carried from the forest's direction and I guessed that the creatures there were grieving as well; a short time afterwards my ears caught the sound of thousands heavy raindrops pummeling the window pane, escorted by massive thunder-rolls and blinding lightening; soft sobbing was heard from the bed to my left - Harry. That caused me to clench my jaw tightly, grip the blankets and shut my eyes, and hope that I wouldn't join him.

I could clearly see the image of my Mother, drowning in her own tears after hearing about Dad, the twins and Percy. Charlie was trying to comfort her, while Gin smothered her with rib-breaking hugs and Bill stood beside me, slightly apart from them. Our hair and our tears still bound us together as a family, but I could see a tiny barrier rippling between me and Bill and them. I always was too much like Bill who, though he loved the family greatly, was also the first to leave when the opportunity presented itself. I don't know what was it, but I just knew that I would also move far from home with the first chance I get. Now, I could see it in his eyes and clearly feel it in my void - we would distance ourselves from them, even further. It was much easier that way.

I felt like a traitor, feeling that way. Like a treacherous rat!

I tossed and turned in my bed for hours, after which exhaustion and bitter tears finally dragged me into dreamless slumber.

When I woke up it was still dark and that's why I thought, at first, I didn't sleep at all. The memories came flooding back, but now they seemed a bit duller, less ruthless, less capable of causing me agony. I heaved my feet over the bed and climbed out, discovering that Harry and Seamus' beds were empty. Deciding they probably couldn't sleep as well, I grabbed some pants and a shirt and headed down the stairs to the Common Room.

There, from a little first-year with bobbing pigtails, I discovered that I had slept for two days straight, that now it was three in the morning, Harry woke up that afternoon and was still in the Great Hall, helping the injured, and finally that Seamus requested to return to his parents for couple of weeks and had left that morning. I thanked the well-informed girl and headed over to the fireplace, sitting down on a sofa in front of it. I suddenly realized what hour it was and turned back to look at the girl, who was hunched over her parchment, scribbling furiously.

"Hey, kid… what's your name?" I called out, startling the girl slightly.

"Err, Holly. Holly Blackwood," she murmured.

"Well, Holly Blackwood, it's three o'clock in the morning. Why aren't you sleeping?"

The girl looked around confused, as if searching for an answer around herself. "Potions essay, due tomorrow," she replied finally, pointing at the parchments.

"Essay, shmessay… up, come on. Go to sleep, it's too late for little girls to be up," I stood and walked over to the girl again, scanning the parchments.

"But, but the essay," she stuttered, seemingly on the verge of tears.

"I'll finish it for you," I assured her, picking up the books and smiling almost fondly at the memories of mental anguish and despair I went through in my first year of Hogwarts in Potions. Now, this material seemed as familiar to me as Chudley Cannons slogans.

"But-" She surveyed me with suspicion in her eyes, but climbed up to her feet, nevertheless. "It better be good," she said in fake haughtiness and smiled at me.

I smiled back and gave her a wink, watching her run up the stairs, giggling softly. I chuckled and sat down in front of her parchments, picking up a quill. I scanned the text in the book and then her parchment, beginning to write from where she left off.

"Well, this is a sight I never thought I'd see," a soft, painfully familiar, voice broke the silence. "Ronald Weasley volunteering to do a Potions essay…"

I glanced up to see Hermione standing at the entrance to the Common Room, leaning against the threshold and holding the portrait of the Fat Lady open with her foot. The small smile disappeared from my face and my eyes darkened. Was she standing there, acting like nothing happened? Like she didn't say what she said? Why, I was sure that she knew exactly what she was saying when she said that and what it would sound like to me. Just at that moment I realized I had known she knew how I felt for quite some time. How strange it is that revelations often appear too late.

I didn't want to talk to her at this moment; she must've known that. Not saying a word, I returned my stare to the books and resumed writing. I heard the painting slide into its rightful place and the soft padding of bare feet on the warm red and gold rug as she made her way to the small table where I was seated.

I couldn't write. The quill was frozen in my hand less than an inch above the parchment, but I didn't bring it down, for fear of ruining the parchment with my trembling hand. My heart began to speed up again, its echoes coursing through every fiber of my body.

"Ron, I want to talk to you," she said suddenly, standing right behind me. "About earlier-"

"As you said, Hermione, you are not of my concern," I spoke serenely, feeling every syllable slicing my flesh from within. "You owe me no explanations-"

"Ron-"

"I'm busy," I said sharply, but quietly. I kicked myself mentally. She came here to talk and I was acting like a complete arse! What was wrong with me???

She fell silent and for a moment, I was sure she would turn around and walk away. Instead, she pulled up a chair and sat beside me, scooting over uncomfortably close and scanning the parchment over my shoulder.

All of a sudden I was drowning in the sweet herbal aroma that wafted from her tresses, resting softly on my shoulder. I found it hard to breathe and my heart found it hard to keep up the pace, cascading into violent throbbing against my ribcage. I gulped hard and forced myself to speak. "What are you doing?"

"You said you are busy. I'm going to help you write the essay and then we are going to talk," she replied evenly, taking the quill my hand, in the process brushing her fingers against mine.

_Gods, woman, what are you doing to me??? _"Fine!" I snapped, grabbing the quill from her hand and putting it down. "Leave the essay. What do you want to talk about?"

She smiled at me with almost unnoticed slyness, and inched away from the table, away from me. "Okay," she said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture, entering her 'convincing' mode. "Just let me speak and don't disturb me," she said, looking at me and trying to read through the walls I so expertly erected.

I sat still, my eyes stern and impenetrable. I was prepared to ricochet every single one of her meager tactics for convincing me right back at her. I don't know what exactly made me so harsh, all of a sudden, but I was sick of her antics and I wasn't going to cave in just because she graced my existence with a little bit of closeness. I watched her carefully as she took another deep breath, but I was unprepared for what came next.

She opened her mouth to speak, but instead leaned in and brushed her sweet petal lips against mine. My eyebrows shot up and the strong, unbending exterior crumbled away as, with that contact, my life regained its meaning.

Parting our lips, she returned to her seat and looked at me, a heavy flush creeping to her cheeks.

I pursed my lips, licking them absentmindedly, picked up the quill and returned to the essay. My whole body was burning up with the newly found desire, but I didn't wish to show her how she affected me. I smirked, seeing from the corner of my eye, that she was frowning.

"Umm- you're not- umm- going to-"

"What?" I asked nonchalantly.

"Err, well- I just kissed you! Aren't you going to react? Kiss me back, perhaps? Or flip out? Aren't you at least concerned as to what this might do to our friendship?" She was panicking. I liked it!

"I thought you said you didn't want my concern," I muttered, lifting my gaze at her and arching a brow.

She narrowed her eyes, realizing what I had done and stood up again, this time taking a seat on my lap. "I lied," she countered irritably and leaned in again.

I know I should've resist longer than five seconds, but I don't think it was physically possible. At a time when everything I ever knew started crumbling away, I sought something to hold onto, something that would reassure me of the goodness in this world that we had fought so hard to protect. I am just immensely grateful that it was her I found.

She was Hermione Granger and I was head over heels, heart over brain, fight-in-a-war-for-ten-years, slay-the-Hungarian-Horntail, study-until-the-wee-hours-of-the-night-in-the-library in love with her.

Surprisingly enough - so was she.

_**A Supergirl my Supergirl**_


End file.
